Plague
by Lover of Angelus
Summary: A series of oneshots done to nursery rhymes or fables. Each has it's own warnings. Slashy Booth-centric ficlets.
1. Ring Around the Rosie

**Title **: Plague

**Disclaimer **: Me no own, You no sue.

**Warning **: Slash

**Note**: Future!fic. AU post S-2. Zach is back from Iraq and Booth is there.

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_Ashes, ashes_

Hips grinding innocence into dust to be blown away by a northern winter wind.

_Ashes, ashes_

All floppy brown hair and baby blue eyes, Zach Addy didn't understand the ways of his world. Once upon a time, he was positively naive.

_Ring around the rosie_

All locked away rage and seductive danger, Seeley Booth couldn't resist the urge to dominate his weaker fellows. Once upon a time, he was painfully innocent.

_A pockets full of posies_

Lips, teeth, tongues clashing and fighting, desperate for that sanctuary of blackness. That blackness where pain and angst and all those nasty little nightmares vanish.

_Ashes, ashes_

They lie spent and sated. There is no cuddling or pillow talk or the baring of souls.

_Ashes, ashes_

They've had that rush of _everything_ and then, then they'll die a little bit more.

_We all fall down._

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	2. Baby Bumpkin

**Title **: Plague

**Disclaimer **: I own only my original character: Agent Nate, but beyond that, nothing.

**Warning **: Slash, character deaths, dark, language

**Note 1**: I've decided to make this into a series of one-shots of who-di-wut-its done to nursery rhymes. Enjoy.

**Note 2**: The beginning is going to confuse you, the problem presented to the squints is something you're gonna have to figure out. Use your imaginations.

**Note 3**: My character "Agent Nate" will also be featured in my upcoming Bones story "A Soldier Thing." The reason I bring this up is because Nate calls Booth by his first name, implying he is in fact closer to him than what I can demonstrate in this particular story... just a bit of stage set-up.

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**Chapter Two**: Baby Bumpkin

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She doesn't know what to make of it, honestly. The whole thing was spiraling out of Brennan's control and the thought of Agent Nate's words being true made the anthropologist sick to her stomach.

"I know it's hard to believe," Angela put a hand on Brennan's arm, her eyes darting between the agent and her best friend.

"Seeley wanted me to tell you personally," Agent Nate shifted his weight from foot to foot, hands in his pockets and eyes down. "And, if I were you, Doc, I would follow his advice."

Brennan nodded slowly before thanking the agent and returning to the platform where Zach was analyzing a skull.

"Zach?" Brennan's voice was quiet.

"Yes, I already know," Zach gently lay down the skull.

"I'm sorry, Zach," there were tears in her eyes as she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him close.

_Bye, baby Bumpkin..._

"I am, too, Dr. Brennan," he buried his face in her shoulder and just let her hold him. "Do you think-"

"No, Zach, absolutely not," Temperance pulled away to look her grad student in the eye, "and neither should you!"

"But, Booth warned me-"

"None of that matters anymore," Angela spoke up.

_Where's Tony Lumpkin?_

"What matters is that Booth is in danger from himself and I think," she paused, a slow smile creeping onto her face, "that Zach is the perfect man for the job."

"But I don't have any experience in saving people!" Zach's blue eyes were wide with fear. "Wouldn't Dr. Brennan be a better candidate?"

"It's not that kind of saving, Zach," Brennan put her hands on Zach's shoulders, making sure the young man understood the gravity of the situation. "Booth's mind has started to break down. He won't take care of himself. Pretty soon his body will give out and I don't think that he'll be able to recover from it. Not this time. You have to help him, Zach."

_My Lady is on her death bed..._

The nightmares had finally caught up to him, and Seeley Booth knew that this time there would be no savior, not for him, he's killed too many.

Booth tries to talk about it, really he does. He's tried talking to his psychiatrist, to Bones, to the others, but every time he opens his mouth, the words never make it out and something stupid and funny and has absolutely nothing to do with bloodfiredeathscreaming comes out instead.

_Bye, baby Bumpkin..._

"Agent Booth!"

The shouting jerks Booth from his sleep and off the couch. He looks around quickly and sees no one.

"Agent Booth!" Zach is banging on the door and Booth wonders why the hell _Zach_ was at his place.

"What?!" Booth demands as he angrily rises to his feet and stomps to the door, suddenly realizing that he was still drunk as he almost trips over his own feet and pajama pants. Booth hesitates for a moment before jerking the door open and is almost hit by Zach's fist. But Booth being Booth, caught the scientist's hand in his own. He didn't let go.

"Agent Booth, I'm sorry to bother you," Zach stutters slightly, eyes never leaving Booth's bare chest.

"What do you want?" Booth's grip on Zach's fist tightens a fraction. Something in the back of his mind whispered that he was in no frame of mind to be around the younger man. Zach was too naive, too defenseless. Booth's military training had taught him to be a predator and right now, in the mental state he was in, Zach was no doubt the prey. The little chick to his drooling wolf's fangs. "Because I feel that I should warn you, I haven't had near enough time to sleep off a third of a bottle of whiskey."

"Is that a threat, Agent Booth?" Zach's eyes narrowed as he tilted his head. "Is my life at risk?"

"Life?" Booth scoffed. "More like," he jerked him in close, "your virtue, Zachy-boy."

"I'm not a virgin, Agent-"

Before Zach could finish, Booth had him inside the apartment, the door closed, and up against the wall. Zach was effectively pinned, his body flush against Booth's.

"Zach, Zach, Zach," Booth nuzzled the crook of the younger man's neck, breathing in the scent of soap and innocence, that sweet, sweet squint smell. He stopped abruptly, violently pushing himself off the wall and off Zach.

"Agent-"

"Fuck!" Booth grabbed his head, roughly rubbing his hands over his face and eyes and temples, trying to keep as much distance between himself and Zach as humanly possible.

"-Booth?" Zach took a tentative step forward.

"Stay away from me," there was a desperation in Booth's voice. "Please, for the sake of everything still right in this _fucked_ up world, leave right now."

"But, Dr. Brennan sent me here to help you," Zach took another step towards Booth, who took a step back - right against the wall.

"Yeah, well, you can't help me," Booth's voice was weak, his eyes everywhere but on Zach.

"I can try, Agent Booth," Zach took note of Booth's heavy breathing, the beads of sweat on Booth's forehead and chest. "Tell me what to do. Anything," Zach reached a hand up, wiped away the sweat from Booth's forehead. "Do you need someone to sleep with? I've never had sexual intercourse with another male, but I've always been curious."

"You're an idiot," was all Booth said before Zach's lips shyly met his.

_Where's Tony Lumpkin?_

It had been slow and steady and, some may even have described it as romantic. But that hadn't been the great thing about it. The great thing happened when morning came: Booth woke up calm and at peace, Zach quietly sleeping at his side.

Zach started coming over every night and no one at the Jeffersonian even blinked an eye when Booth would drop Zach off in the morning.

_My Lady is on her death bed..._

The nightmares stopped all together.

Booth immersed himself in everything that was Zach.

And no one could fathom what came next.

_My Lady is-_

The man had been drunk. Drunk and violent. But Booth was used to suffering fools. However, everything was thrown out the window when the bastard decided he wanted Zach as his own, Booth stood up, hands curled tightly into strong fists.

The gun had been a surprise and, in the end, Zach wouldn't survive the two ricochets that embeded themselves in his abdomen.

Booth was shot three times before he snapped the drunk's neck. He died in Zach's arms.

_-on her deathbed..._

Booth is buried at Arlington and Zach at a family plot in Minnesota. Angela thinks that it's a crime to have buried them separately. Everyone else can only nod quietly in agreement. They can catch serial killers with little to no evidence, but when it comes to honoring dead friends, they have not the power.

_B__ye, baby Bumpkin..._

It was a lovely funeral and Hodgins is sure the entirety of both the FBI and Army Special Forces were there.

Every member of the squint squad cries and they don't know how they will be able to continue. They know that they can, it is just a matter of how long before the agony becomes bearable. If it ever does.

Brennan waits for the tap on her shoulder. It'll be Booth and he'll smile and say, "Just kidding, Bones. Good one, huh?" and she'll punch him in the face and they'll go out and catch the bad guy and have pie at the _Diner_.

It never comes though.

_Where is Tony Lumpkin?_

Booth watches his funeral and wonders if he really deserved full honors and... is that the _President_?

"Of course," Zach whispers from beside him. "You were a hero."

Booth doesn't know how Zach was able to read his mind, so he just smiles at the kid, slings his arm around his shoulders and leads them away.

_My Lady is on her death bed..._

Zach watches his funeral and wonders if it's right that this many people showed up.

"Of course," Booth rests his chin on Zach's shoulder, "they all loved you."

Zach nods slowly.

_...For eating half a pumpkin._

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	3. For Want of a Nail

**Title **: Plague

**Disclaimer **: Me no own, You no sue.

**Warning **: language, blood

**Note **: If anyone has read my other story "A Soldier Thing" you will notice that my OC Dove is brought back here. He is the only thing that I own. For those of you who don't know: Dove is my made-up spotter for Booth back in his war days.

**Note2** : Please review!!

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**Chapter Three**: For Want of a Nail

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_"State your rank, name, and company for the record, please."_

_**For want of a nail, the shoe was lost.**_

_"Private First Class Seeley Booth, 101st Airborne Rangers, sir."_

_**For want of a shoe, the horse was lost.**_

_" PFC Booth, please tell the board what happened on the night of May 12, 2009."_

_**For want of a horse, the rider was lost.**_

Blood.

There had been so much blood.

The three of them were in an alley and the walls were bleeding and the sun was shining and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue.

"He killed her," snot and drool mingled with tears and blood on Jim Jim's face. "I just wanted to know why."

"How the fuck are you so calm?" Dove demanded quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

**_For want of a rider, the battle was lost._**

Seeley shrugged, saying nothing, not giving anything away.

"I don't think I've heard a thing crueler," Dove shook his head sadly, eyes never leaving the sobbing shaking form of Jim Jim.

Seeley nodded.

There was just so much fucking blood.

_**For want of a battle, the kingdom was lost.**_

Seeley and Dove had followed Jim Jim when they saw the guy run out of a bar. Jim Jim had never run _away_ from a bar before.

And now, with the sun still shining and the desert heat choking all logic and reason from the situation, Seeley could do nothing but stand next Dove and bow his head and pray that Jim Jim would receive mercy in heaven. Lord knows the Army wouldn't be giving him any.

**_And all for the want of a horseshoe nail._**

_"Thank you, PFC."_

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	4. London Bridge is Falling Down

**Title**: Plague

**Disclaimer**: Me no own, you no sue

**Warning**: None

**Note**: uh...this is just a short little snippet

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**Chapter Four**:London Bridge is Falling Down

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_**London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down**_

Booth halted his pacing as soon as he saw Bones on her way to the platform.

"Bones-"

"Not now, Booth," her tone was curt and crisp as she swiped her id and brushed by him.

"What've we got?" she asked Zach, pulling on her gloves and turning her back to Booth.

_**London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down**_

"Am I missing something?" Zach asked.

"No," Booth and Bones answered at the same time.

"Look," Booth's voice was hard as he stood in front of Brennan. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry you had to find out that like."

"When were you going to tell us?" there were tears in her eyes as she shoved Booth away from her.

"What's going on?" Zach's voice was small and distant.

"Tell him, Booth," Brennan's eyes turned cold.

_**London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down**_

"Tell me what?"

"Booth is-"

"Bones-"

"Booth is dying."

_**London bridge is falling down, my fair lady. **_

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	5. Humpty Dumpty

**Title**: Plague

**Disclaimer**: Me no own, you no sue

**Warning**: Character death

**Notes**: Constructive criticism is most appreciated. Thank you!

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**Chapter Five**: Humpty Dumpty

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There is a man who is walking away from a grave.

_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall_

There is a rose on the grave that a man is walking away from.

_Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;_

There is a thunderstorm rolling in and it will rain on the rose on the grave that a man is walking away from.

_All the King's horses and all the King's men_

There is a ghost whose eyes are pointed heavenward to watch the rain that will pour down upon the rose on the grave that a man is walking away from.

_Couldn't put Humpty together again._

Off in the distance, a black SUV waits for the man who is walking away from a grave that a white rose sits on that will get rained on by the thunderstorm that is coming in that is being watched by a ghost whose eyes are pointed heavenward.

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	6. Pied Piper

**Title: **Plague

**Disclaimer:** Me no own, You no sue.

**Warning:** Graphic violence, mentions of torture

**Note:** So this is really is nothing more than a series of drabbles and one-sentencers that have all been tied up with the Pied Piper fable. I know, I know, I was supposed to stick to nursery rhymes, but this one came over and kicked me in the face then in the gut and then held a gun to my head. I had no choice... Also, this is the **shortened** version of the fable, in all actually it is way longer, so if anyone would like the original, just shoot me a message and I will send you the link.

**Note2**: I tried to keep the story as focused on Seeley Booth as I possibly could. Now, if any of you are familiar with my other _Bones _stories, you should be familiar with Dove - an original character created to be Seeley's spotter. However, no prior knowledge is needed.

**Note3**: I tried to use this story to distinguish the difference between Seeley, as the army knew him, and Booth, as the squints know him. Hope it works.

**Note4**: REVIEW, PLEASE!!

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**Chapter Six**: The Pied Piper

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_**Hamelin town's in Brunswick  
**__**By famous Hanover city;  
**__**The River Weser, deep and wide,  
**__**Washes its walls on the Southern side;**_

For an Army man, Seeley Booth considered himself a nice enough guy. He never went out of his way to look for a fight, but never would've backed down from one either.

_**But when begins my ditty,  
**__**Almost five hundred years ago,  
**__**To see townsfolk suffer so  
**__**From vermin was a pity.**_

Seeley had been enjoying his beautiful September morning, had just sat down with a coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other, when he turned on the news.

And just as he was setting down the still steaming mug on the table, the first of the towers fell.

The next day he was standing in the line outside the Army recruiter's office.

_**Rats!  
**__**They fought the dogs, and killed the cats  
**__**And bit the babies in the cradles.**_

He had always been a good little Catholic boy. Always said his prayers and went to mass on Sunday and never did any drugs.

_**At last the people in a body  
**__**To the Town Hall came flocking  
**_"_**Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking  
**__**To find the remedy we're lacking,  
**__**Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"**_

It was quiet as Seeley stared at the man across from him. His name was Webber and he was as new as they get.

"Move," Seeley said the word without really saying it.

Webber gulped, glanced down, wiped sweat from his forehead.

Seeley could hear soft laughter from over his right shoulder – it was his spotter, Dove, had to be.

Webber gulped again before finally exhaling and mumbling something under his breath.

"What was that?" Seeley leaned in close enough to smell the hot cheetos the kid had been eating earlier.

"Fold," the boot's shoulders slumped in defeat.

Seeley grunted and gathered up the pile of starburst candies in front of him, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

_**An hour they sat in council  
**__**At length the Mayor broke silence:  
**_"_**Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!"  
**__**Just as he said this, what should hap  
**__**At the chamber door but a gentle tap?**_

"Father, forgive me," Seeley whispers when he pulls the trigger for the first time.

Number of kills: one.

"_**Come in!" – the Mayor cried  
**__**And in did come the strangest figure!  
**__**His queer long coat from heel to head  
**__**Was half of yellow and half of red**_

For an Army man, Booth considered himself a nice enough guy. For having _killed_ before, Booth considered himself a nice enough guy.

He never actively went out looking for a fight, but he never backed down from one either.

So when some terrorist asshole thought he could get away with what happened on the Eleventh, Seeley Booth had chuckled darkly and went to chat with Uncle Sam.

_**Please your honor," said he, "I'm able,  
**__**By means of a secret charm, to draw  
**__**All creatures living beneath the sun,  
**__**After me so as you never saw!  
**__**And people call me the Pied Piper."**_

It was quiet as Seeley stared at the man through his scope.

"Fire," his spotter's gentle command urged him as the target came within range.

And he did.

Number of kills: ten.

"_**If I can rid your town of rats  
**__**Will you give me a thousand guilders?"  
**_"_**One? fifty thousand!" – was the exclamation  
**__**Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.**_

It was funny; the things life could throw in the way. Like how there was a little boy sitting cross legged at Seeley's side while Seeley was being tortured. The catch was this: Seeley knew this boy, had given him chocolates and MREs. And now the little boy was sitting there, a goofy grin on his face as he watched his papa beat Seeley's feet with a pipe.

It was funny; the things life could throw in the way.

_**Into the street the Piper stept  
**__**Smiling first a little smile  
**__**As if he knew what magic slept  
**__**In his pipe the while;**_

Seeley Booth was not a mean man. Not by any standard.

But, when the lieutenant colonel hands him a loaded pistol and points at the kneeling man who had been Seeley's own person Devil, Seeley had felt his blood turn to ice and Time itself slow to a stop.

Seeley raised the pistol.

The boy was crying, screaming and begging and struggling in a room on the other side of one of the closed doors.

Seeley tuned him out.

Seeley pulled the trigger.

No, Seeley Booth was not a mean man; torture just has a way of changing one's opinions on certain things.

_**Then, like a musical adept,  
**__**To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled  
**__**And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled  
**__**And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered**_

He dips two fingers into the bowl. He touches his forehead; touches his chest; touches first his left shoulder and then his right.

He kneels before the altar, looks to the cross before closing his eyes, and slowly bows his head.

_**And out of the houses the rats came tumbling  
**__**And followed the Piper for their lives  
**__**From street to street he piped, advancing  
**__**And step for step, they followed, dancing  
**__**Until they came to the river Weser  
**__**Wherein all plunged and perished**_

Seeley smiles through the scope.

"Fire," Dove's gentle command seeps deep into his bones and triggers the action before the word has even been completely pronounced.

Number of kills: fifty-three.

"_**Go," cried the Mayor  
**_"_**Consult with carpenters and builders  
**__**And leave in our town not even a trace  
**__**Of the rats!" – when suddenly up the face  
**__**Of the Piper perked in the market place  
**__**With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"**_

He wasn't going to make it. Seeley could tell. But it didn't stop him from trying.

There had been someone calling his name, but Seeley couldn't tell who the owner of the voice was. He just knew that he had to get his baby booter back to safety, back to the tents that smelled like rubbing alcohol and CLP and sweat.

Then he heard that _hiss_ of an inbound RPG.

_Fuck,_ is all he has time to think as he throws the baby boot – Webber? – onto the ground, covering his body with his own.

_**Quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,  
**_"_**Our business was done at the river's brink.  
**__**As for the guilders, what we spoke  
**__**Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.  
**__**Beside, our losses have made us thrifty:  
**__**A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"**_

There wasn't a whole lot he could do in this situation. Some people would just never learn –

Seeley drew his fist back.

– but it didn't mean he couldn't try.

_**The Piper's face fell, and he cried,  
**_"_**No trifling!  
**__**Folk who put me in a passion  
**__**May find me pipe to another fashion."**_

Blood on the ground, oozing slowly toward his feet.

Blood drip, drip, dripping from his fingertips.

Blood crawling toward the grass from the side of his boot.

Seeley Booth almost could've laughed, but the heat of the desert is too thick in his throat.

"_**How?" cried the Mayor,  
**_"_**You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,  
**__**Blow your pipe there till you burst!"**_

Seeley Booth isn't that bad of a guy once you get to know him.

Sometimes, when he drinks too much or is stressed out enough, he'll dream. He'll dream about the game and all the pretty girls he'd been a jerk to and just how much damage only a few words can do when coming from a man who is considered god-like in the high school world.

Sometimes, when he drinks too much or is stressed out enough, he'll dream. He'll dream about Iraq and that Pink Mist and just how much damage a single pair of tweezers can do when in the hands of a man who wants to kill you.

But, really, _honestly_, Seeley's not that bad of a guy once you get to know him.

_**Once more he stept into the street;  
**__**And to his lips again  
**__**Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;  
**__**And ere he blew three notes**_

He was cold and tired and wet and hungry. They had been sitting out here for way too long, waiting for the target to come out to play.

_I think I'm going to just shoot this guy in the foot_, Seeley doesn't say it out loud, just glances at the man next to him.

_I know, I know,_ Dove says with just a twitch of an eyebrow. _But that would just be a waste of ammo. And not to mention against the whole 'one shot, one kill' thing you live by._

_Stop being the source of reason_, Seeley flares his nostrils and flexes his jaw.

_**Out came the children running  
**__**All the little boys and girls  
**__**The Mayor was dumb and the Council stood  
**__**As if they were now changed into blocks of wood.**_

When Seeley had gone home on leave after his first tour in Iraq, he had honestly never noticed _colors_ before.

He'd never really noticed the blues of the lake or the greens of the trees or the purples and pinks of the flowers that decorated his mother's garden.

But after all the haggard browns and harsh golden-yellows of the desert sand, he found he could just smile and lie down next to the flower bed and sleep for hours, breathing in the freshness of _home_.

_**The Piper turned from the High Street  
**__**To where the Weser rolled it's waters  
**__**Right in the way of their sons and daughters!**_

A smiling child delivers a hand grenade to a soldier whose baby was born just yesterday.

"Because not all the sweetness or innocence or love or anything else that is still fuckin' pure and _right_ in this world can erase what the fuck has happened here!" Seeley closes his eyes tight and rubs his hands over his face.

"Because in the end," his voice cackle and cracks, "we are nothing but dust on the harsh western winds of humanity's consistent evils."

A smiling child delivers a hand grenade to a soldier whose baby was born just yesterday and Seeley was the one chosen to present the flag to the new widow-mother.

_**However he turned from South to West  
**__**To Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed  
**__**And after him the children pressed**_

This hadn't been their plan.

Seeley smiled. It was a sadistic smile, an evil smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Look, man," they were trying to avoid the inevitable.

Seeley's smile grew wider, almost reaching his eyes.

"We didn't know, okay? We're _sorry_!"

Seeley's movement was too fast for anyone to have seen. His fists were as lightning strikes, barely touching the noses, cheeks, chins of his offenders; yet still causing everything to crack and break and tear and bleed.

This had definitely _not_ been the plan. But Seeley smiled and finished his beer anyway, the scent of blood and fear thick in his nostrils.

_**When, lo! as they reached the mountainside,  
**__**A wondrous portal opened wide,  
**__**And the Piper advanced and the children followed,  
**__**And when all were in to the very last,  
**__**The door to the mountainside shut fast.**_

The last time Seeley used his sniper rifle was on the leader of the most active terrorist cell in Iraq.

The last time Seeley cleaned his sniper rifle was on the day he left the army base for the J. Edgar Hoover building.

The last time Seeley saw his sniper rifle was when he turned it into the armory, every muscle in his arm aching to dart out and snatch it back.

And it was on that day, the day that beloved rifle left his hands, that he stopped being Seeley, the best motherfuckin' sniper the 101st Airborne Rangers could've dared to ask for, and became Special Agent Booth, FBI.

_**The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South  
**__**To offer the Piper by word of mouth  
**__**Silver and gold to his heart's content.  
**__**If he'd only return the way he went  
**__**And bring the children behind him.**_

Sometimes he misses it.

Sometimes when he's in the lab with the squints and he flashes back to the desert and all the secrets that lie buried in the sand, he wonders if he would be better off still dirty and still bloody and still killing.

But then they all look at him and he realizes that no, no he's better here in the suit where he's clean and shaven and doesn't _have_ to shoot his gun

Yeah, sometimes he misses it, but only sometimes.

_**But they saw twas a lost endeavor  
**__**And Piper and Dancers were gone forever.**_

END


	7. What Are Little Boys Made Of?

**Title**: Plague

**Disclaimer**: Me no own, you no sue

**Warning**: Disturbing content

**Notes**: Constructive criticism is most appreciated. Thank you!

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**Chapter Seven**: What Are Little Boys Made Of?

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The dream/nightmare/hallucination always begins the same.

_What are little boys made of?_

He's running barefoot through a field/forest/desert with only the icy fires of fear and adrenaline to keep him going.

_What are little boys made of?_

Sometimes, but only sometimes, this is all there is: him running and running and running and, holy fuck if he isn't running for his life.

But, more often than not, it's not that easy.

_Frogs and snails_

More often than not, he'll be running in this dream/nightmare/hallucination and then he'll stop and he'll be looking around for the threat – except that there isn't one.

_And puppy dog tails_

And once he realizes that there is no threat, the lightening grins and the thunder chuckles and it'll start to rain blood.

_That's what little boys are made of_

Then he wakes up in his office/bedroom/Jeffersonian.

_What are little boys made of?_

Yeah, the dream/nightmare/hallucination always begins the same.

**-z-**


	8. Old King Cole

**Title **: Plague  
**Disclaimer **: Me no own, You no sue.  
**Warning **: language, blood  
**Note **: Crossover with _Angel_

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**Chapter Eight **: Old King Cole

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_Old King Cole  
__Was a merry ol' soul  
__And a merry ol' soul was he;_

Booth laughs and flirts; Angelus snarls and gnashes his teeth.

_He called for his pipe,  
__And he called for his bowl,  
__And he called for his fiddlers three._

Spike visits every once in a while; giving him updates on Big Blue, and all the happening of the underworld.

_Every fiddler, he had a fiddle,  
__And a very fine fiddle had he;  
__Twee tweedle dee, tweedle dee, went the fiddlers._

Booth laughs and flirts; Angelus snarls and gnashes his teeth.

_Old King Cole  
__Was a merry ol' soul  
__And a merry ol' soul was he._

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	9. Wee Willie Winkie

**Title **: Plague  
**Disclaimer **: Me no own, You no sue.  
**Warning **: language, blood  
**Note **: Crossover with _Angel_

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**Chapter Nine **: Wee Willie Winkie

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Once upon a time, you think, the two of you were one.

_Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,_

And, once upon a time, you reflect, the two of you were forever.

_Upstairs and downstairs in his night gown,_

Then Fate, in all her ironic poetry, decided to step in and give the two of you a test.

_Rapping at the window, crying through the lock,_

"Who are you?" he asks through squinted eyes and curious tilt of the head.

"I'm-," you realize suddenly that you don't have the words. You want to tell him that the two of you were supposed to be in love, that the two of you were to be together forever and always, that the two of you were never supposed to end. But it doesn't seem right, to have to explain it all to him. "I'm Dr. Lance Sweets," the smile is soft and you want to hate him for forgetting you.

"_Are all the children in bed, for now its eight o'clock!"_

Once upon a time, the two of you were one.

Once upon a time, the two of you were forever.

Then Fate, in all her ironic poetry, decided to step in and give the two of you a test.

A test, you note with a bit of hysterical laughter from the back of your throat, the both of you failed.

-z-


End file.
